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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30006243">Who Dares, Wins</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/dindooku/pseuds/dindooku'>dindooku</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Birds of Prey (And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) (2020), DCU, DCU (Comics), DCeased (DC Comics), Gotham (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>ALL THE GOOD STUFF, Anxiety Attacks, Blood and Violence, Eventual Fluff, F/M, Fucked Up, I am feeding the narcissistic whore within me, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, OC is a badass, Ok so this is gonna be dark af, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Protective Roman Sionis, Sex, Sexual Assault, Smut, Torture, Violence, What Have I Done, You Have Been Warned, black mask DC, but you're an arsehole too, don't lie we all love a murder, hes a bastard, perfect murder couple, roman sionis can get it, this shit is gonna be gory and violent, you fuck shit up, you're just as bad as each other</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 20:33:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,021</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30006243</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/dindooku/pseuds/dindooku</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>As a young student studying Criminology, Gotham was the perfect place to study the theory of crime. But, that didn't come without its own risks. Without your intention, your life becomes intertwined with another's; a life you had so vehemently tried to repress - and now it was within your grasp; the opportunity held upon a golden pedestal, just waiting for you to take it. In your own desperation to fend off the demons tormenting your soul, can you overcome the very thing you swore against? Or will you succumb to the darkness? </p><p>When had being bad ever felt so good?</p><p>rating: M/E - swearing, graphic violence, gore, sex, graphic descriptions of violence, suicidal thoughts/idealisation, manipulation, sexual assault, murder (more tags to be added)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Roman Sionis/Original Female Character(s), Roman Sionis/Reader, Roman Sionis/You</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p></p><blockquote><p>
    <em>'Moving to Gotham was the worst-best thing you have ever done. It'd do leaps and bounds for your research and personal evolution, but it was also becoming more and more apparent by the day as to why the little flat you lived in was so cheap; having an address with anything to do with Hell on it was probably a good indication. </em>
  </p><p>
    <em>Flat 221B, 36th, Hell's Kitchen, Gotham. </em>
  </p><p>
    <em>Yeah. That's why you fucking needed this.'</em>
  </p>
<hr/><p>As a young student studying Criminology, Gotham was the perfect place to study the thoery of crime. But, that didnt come without it's own risks. Without your intention, your life becomes intertwined with another's; a life you had so vehemently tried to repress - and now it was within your grasp; the opportunity held upon a golden pedestal, just waiting for you to take it. In your own desperation to fend off the demons tormenting your soul, can you overcome the very thing your swore against? Or will you succumb to the darkness? </p><p>
    <span class="u">
      <strong>When had being bad ever felt so <em>good?</em></strong>
    </span>
  </p></blockquote><hr/><p>
  <em><strong>work in progress - coming soon!</strong> </em>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. First Impressions</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You needed this. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">By fucking god you needed this. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You could blame it on your studies, your recent move to Gotham city to study your Masters in Criminology; the perfect setting really. And you could blame it on your stressful move; the house that you're renting not being anything like the photos you viewed online - the water-damaged walls and the odd-looking array of bullet holes in the front room, and maybe even the questionable red stain spotting along the cream-turned-brown carpet towards the bathroom. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But most of all it was this.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Moving to Gotham was the worst-best thing you have ever done. It'd do leaps and bounds for your research and personal evolution, but it was also becoming more and more apparent by the day as to why the little flat you lived in was so cheap; having an address with anything to do with Hell on it was probably a good indication. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Flat 221B, 36th, Hell's Kitchen, Gotham. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yeah. That's why you fucking needed this. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was an absolute shithole. You'd only been here for a week and you had experienced more crime than you had been privy to when studying at home. It was a catch 22, move to the most dangerous city you can think of and get 1-1 experience in crime, collecting data for your dissertation; or stay at home, go to a safe city and become some pansy police officer who refused to get their hands dirty. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You were always one for taking risks. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So, as you downed your last home-made margarita and stuffed your bits and pieces into your shoulder bag, you were off out the door. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tonight was a field day; an excuse to go out and get absolutely trollied all in the name of science. It was just getting late, the sun had set a few hours ago and the Gotham nightlife brought the streets to life; </span>
  <span class="s2">ironically</span>
  <span class="s1">, considering the insanely high murder rates. Some would call you mad, a single, young, attractive woman walking unfamiliar streets at this time of night, in Gotham. And you supposed you were. See, the only reason you were studying crime was out of pure fascination. Fascination, yes. The theory of it, really - how the human mind comprehended such decisions and why you lived in such a society - who branded these rules? Desperation was a word you liked to play with. Its meaning subjective depending on your own reality, really. You had always seen the world differently... criminals weren't inherently bad people to you, they were just often misunderstood, brandished, acting out of desperation at someone else's greed. Obviously, you had the complete and utter fucking </span>
  <span class="s2">mentalists</span>
  <span class="s1">, but even then you could find an argument in their favour - like the Joker; he was misunderstood, torn and thrown around like a rag doll until he made a stand, a particularly violent one, but a stand nonetheless; a stand out of desperation to be heard, to be understood. And deep down you resonated with his actions, being driven to the extremes to be listened to. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You knew exactly how he felt. You had the scars to prove it. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Enough on that, though; you're here for a good time, right? </span>
  <span class="s3">Right</span>
  <span class="s1">. You're going out to forget about the stingy shithole you'll be returning to once the night bleeds into morning, to forget about the mountain of case studies you've yet to work through. It was all a bit overwhelming; thus solidifying your burning need to procrastinate and forget about it all, and what better way to do it than get black-out drunk in a bar you've never been to before? </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You weren't an alcoholic by any means, you didn't rely on the sweet burn to see you through the days, but that didn't mean you couldn't revel in the double-ended spear of its toxicity - drinking so much to forget, but its effects only temporary. You were a student, after all, you had to live up to the stereotype? </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You scoffed at the thought, murmuring out loud, "</span>
  <span class="s2">Fucking hell."</span>
  <span class="s1"> Ok maybe you needed to slow down a little bit... you put the hipflask back in its pouch whilst you continued to walk to your third bar of the night. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You were on a pub crawl of sorts, embarking on your own little quest to scout out the best club in town for further investigation. You were just balancing on that fuzzy tightrope between bliss and blindness, the perfect haze to blur out the dangers of the night and warm your skin despite the bitter cold. You were in your own little world it seemed, and as a bright neon sign for a secluded back alley club came into view, you knew you had to investigate. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Card." Came the burly voice in front of you. You had to crane your neck up to meet their eyeline, trying your best to pull a serious face and not laugh at the imaginary comedy sketch playing out in your mind. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Card, you </span>
  <span class="s2">mean</span>
  <span class="s1"> ID?" You ask, one eyebrow furrowing in question. You had all the relevant stuff, and deep down you'd be offended if they didn't ask, you'd only just turned 21, a few months ago in fact. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"No, Entry Card, VIP." He reiterates, crossing his hands in front of his chest. You scoff at the idea that a place like this required VIP cards to get in. '</span>
  <span class="s2">Really? They'd have to pay me to not go in, ha</span>
  <span class="s1">' you humour to yourself, finding the joke a little too funny in your drunken state. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"What's so funny?" The man asks again, a bit more aggressively this time, like he knew you were mocking him in your head. And you were. You knew you shouldn't push your luck, his size easily outmatching yours. But </span>
  <span class="s2">fuck it. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Nothin sweetheart, just surprised 'tis all," You tease, rolling your eyes as you put your ID away and prepare to leave the queue. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The bouncer can't help himself, "Suprised?" </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Mmm, yes, surprised, or </span>
  <span class="s2">disappointed</span>
  <span class="s1">? You choose." You smirk as you turn away, hips swaying in a drunken swagger that you would never normally possess. Something about you tonight just screamed fucking </span>
  <span class="s4">goddess</span>
  <span class="s1"> - and '</span>
  <span class="s2">don't fuck with me else it will be the last thing you do</span>
  <span class="s1">' - you didn't know why; you were in no state to start a bar fight and win. Maybe it was the tight, black faux leather flares and wrap around corset that filled you with a placebo pill of confidence; but by </span>
  <span class="s2">god</span>
  <span class="s1"> did you have a stunning poker face, one that seemed to have caught the eyes of someone other than the bouncer you were antagonising. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A whistle stopped you in your tracks. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You stood on the edge of the pavement, back to the club, your hair flowing slightly in the wind. You tilted your head slightly towards the sound, your minimal movement the only sign of your acknowledgement. You really hated catcallers. It was one of the few things that would really wind you up, your short and temperate anger fizzing and popping under the surface. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Let her in." Came a new voice. You turned around, eyes landing on an unfamiliar face. He was a tall guy, with an ice-white buzzcut and a sculpted face sporting scars; new and old - his brows knit into a harsh line and his piercing gaze instructing you with just his silent intention. You decide to play along, smirking back at him as you turn and saunter your way back to the entryway. As you walk past the bouncer you position yourself against him, slighting a faint touch of your body to his, sure to leave a whisper of your perfume lingering in the air as a sort of poisonous parting gift - a nicely packaged fuck you. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Your pupils instantly dilated to the sight laid before you. Ok, you take it back. This was no dingey club. Your skin was coated in an inciting shade of red; the coloured theme of the club. It was stimulating, the atmosphere - reigniting that previous cockiness you had been secretly harbouring through the night and twisting it into something still unfamiliar to you, the inner thrumming residing behind your naval indistinguishable from the music reverberating around the club. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The man who had whistled at you had disappeared, so you took this as your opportunity to grab a couple more drinks, to scout the club, </span>
  <span class="s2">of course... </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You sauntered over to the bar and after a moment of getting yourself comfortable on the stool, locked eyes with the bartender. They didn't hold the same ferocity as the man before, and you felt your outer guard falling slightly at the soft tones lacing their eyes, their general aura giving off nothing inherently dangerous. They walk over, one hand wiping away at a newly washed pint glass with a rag. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"What can I get you?" They ask politely. They seemed young, too young in fact to be working behind the bar, but now wasn't the time for serious investigating - you highly doubted he was underage, just in fact sporting an inherent babyface. You smile sweetly back at the bartender as you purr your reply, "Whiskey on the rocks, please."</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Oh? Honey that's strong?" He questions, an eyebrow furrowing at your request. You giggle at his innocence. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Mhm, </span>
  <span class="s2">make it a double.</span>
  <span class="s1">" You smirk, and he only reciprocated, pouring a double and a little extra. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"You're new 'round here, aren't you?" He states as he passes over your drink, and you nod as you take a sip, soon following up with a further reply, "That obvious?"</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"No, I just would've remembered a pretty face like yours if you'd been here before." He flirts, leaning down onto the bar, elbows sitting comfortably on the dark mahogany surface - it was a tactical move, you knew it, he was getting closer to you by the minute and you noticed his blatant interest the moment he locked eyes with you. You'd play along for a little while, it was good practice anyway, </span>
  <span class="s2">investigating</span>
  <span class="s1">. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You smile before replying, a brief pause between sips to sell your contemplation, "I can tell you're not one for wasting time..." You pause, implying silently for his name. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Alex." He smirks, holding his hand out to you. You shake it, surprised by the dexterity. But as you thought things were going well, he pulls away sharply, his gaze dropping from you as he scurries back to the other side of the bar nervously. Your face scrunches in confusion, wondering exactly what you'd done wrong. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A firm hand around your waist answers your question. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The presence of another behind you makes you tense momentarily, their forward nature catching you off guard. A hand swirls around the small of your back, stopping at the natural curve of your waist, their palm sitting comfortably in the dip as their fingers latched into your exposed skin. The grip is tight, possessive - possessive for someone you didn't even know the face of. Your nervousness quickly turns into a tizzy, frustrated at the being behind you and their audacity to hold you so. You twist, turning your head to meet the side of their face, eyes rough with your bubbling anger. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The sharp-edged, stubbly profile of a man greets you, a little too close for comfort. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Alex, two of whatever she's ordered on me, 'kay?" The man says. You roll your eyes at his cockiness, picking up your whiskey glass and downing the rest of the hot honey, burning your throat in the process - but you invited the pain, it's scorch momentarily masking the uninvited heat that was building elsewhere. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"I can order my own drinks, thank you." You scoff, sliding off of the barstool and away from his grasp, picking up your bag so that you can leave. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The man scoffs, using one hand to bring the red-tinted shades sitting on his nose sliding down, tilting his head to give you a better look. You turn and face him at the wrong time it seems, interrupting his very blatant scan of your form. You scoff at his actions, turning harshly to go, muttering to him as you walk past him and towards the exit, "</span>
  <span class="s2">In your fucking </span>
  <span class="s4">dreams</span>
  <span class="s2">.</span>
  <span class="s1">" </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yeah - you tell him, girl. Too fucking right, that's what he gets for...</span>
  <span class="s2">that</span>
  <span class="s1">. Maybe you were overreacting, but the way your skin heated like wildfire at his unexpected touch, the way the previously dormant thrumming deep within your stomach tinged with a spark of something you hadn't felt in a long time, a feeling that was unfortunately not one of pleasure to you - you panicked. You'd never reacted like this, but something about his presence was just dominating your senses and you had to get away, to clear your head; maybe it was the alcohol, you didn't know - you didn't care, you just wanted fresh air and five minutes to get whatever the fuck has come over you out of your system.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"I see manners are not your chosen language," The man jokes, but he doesn't bother hiding the icy bitter frustration at your rejection. But you carry on, moving away from his ensuing footsteps. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Neither are they yours," You retort, turning the corner towards the back exit. But you don't make it to the back exit. The scarred man from before moves from the shadows and grips your upper arm, swivelling you in one motion to face your incessant assailant. You don't give him the privilege of your attention, instead choosing to stare wide-eyed at the ground. Your bubbling anger evolves into something more pertinent, more feral, "What the fuck is it with you guys?" You spit, trying your best to yank your arm free. It was no good, every time you moved his grip on you tightened. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"That's no way to speak to a kind gentleman, is it darling?" The stubble-haired man chides, waving a hand in a dramatic swish as he talks. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"You and gentlemen is a bit of a reach, don't you think? And kind too, don't flatter yourself sweetheart -- hey! Let me go!" You scorn, yanking away harder. Your heart was starting to race now, the phantom ghost of familiar brutish hands that had hurt you before were blurring with your present reality. You couldn't go through that again, no. You'd moved away for a reason, even if it were disguised by your University Degree, the real reason was to get away from him. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Your change in body language seemed to shock both men, and soon the bearded man orders the other to let you go. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Zsasz, let her go." He says sternly. As soon as his grip is off of you, you practically run to the bathroom, locking yourself in the stall. You close your eyes. You were trying so, so hard to help yourself, but it was just not to be. The last 12 months come crashing down on you, and you were helpless against the murderous gravity of it all. Your panic quickly turned into terror, and no matter how hard you tried to suppress the overbearing feelings blistering your heart, their clutch was now embedded into your conscious and they were working their way out, ripping and tearing, leaving nothing but devastation in its wake. It was brutish, the power of it all; how after all this time those short few moments held such a crippling power over you, a power no matter how hard you tried to overrule, decimated you each and every time. You're so caught up in your emotions that you don't hear the lock on the bathroom click, nor do you hear the faint rustling of a velvet suit making its way towards your stall. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">However, you do hear the tap-tap of leather-coated knuckles against the door. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Fuck off," You spit, not even attempting to mask the raspy panic between each word. The other person didn't say anything, and silence engulfed the room momentarily, only the occasional piercing sounds of your choked panic ripping the hazy-yellow neon light animating the bathroom. The clink of glass to wood brought your head up, your attention distracted and now upon the glass of whiskey being slid underneath the door. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"A peace offering," A familiar voice clarifies. You snatch up the drink and down it in one, desperate for a distraction; a controllable discomfort. You cough roughly at the strength, the new soreness from your rasped panic mixing distastefully with the burn from the alcohol - note taken; </span>
  <span class="s2">don't ever do that again.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You take a second to let the burn cool before speaking, "Thanks...for the drink." </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He doesn't bother with a reply. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Another few moments pass and you feel you have yourself under control. You take in a deep breath and straighten your clothes out as you stand, brushing the stray hairs from your face and trying your best to look presentable despite the absence of a mirror. You unlock the door and move to step out, hand holding the empty glass out aimlessly for the other man to take. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He doesn't take it. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You furrow your brows and pause in your movements, and it is only now you chance a look into his eyes for the first time. The moment your eyes meet his, you regret it. Not because you're scared or frightened, no; you regret it because you know those are eyes you will forever see in your dreams. This man's eyes told you similar tales of the navy shores from home that you had often resided to in search of peace, the lighter hues telling tales of the midwinter sky you would doze under; and the occasional slash of cobalt reflected the darker depths of his soul, mirroring the light of unnamed stars. His eyes painted your soul in a colour you'd yet to see, a colour only he could grace you with, and it made you weak. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You were transfixed, held stationary by his unspoken authority. He raised an eyebrow at you, his understanding all too clear. You broke from your haze and scuffed, a hot blush creeping over your tear-stained cheeks. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Embarrassed couldn't even cover it. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"</span>
  <span class="s2">Fuck</span>
  <span class="s1">," you whispered, wiping away once again at the drying streaks of once warm tears on your cheeks. "FUCK!" You shout louder this time, chastising yourself as you come back to reality. </span>
  <span class="s2">What the fuck are you doing? You're stronger than this?</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"How about we fix you another drink, hmm?" He says. You chuckle as you pinch the bridge of your nose, the heavy daze from the whiskey starting to mount its assault on your senses. Fuck it, you came here to get blackout drunk, so you're going to get fucking blackout drunk - for free by the looks of it.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You roll your shoulders and pick your head up, holding it high. "Sure, ugh--?" You say, holding out your hand to shake his as you hint for his name. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He replies with a smirk before turning you towards the door, catching himself before he places a hand at the small of your back, "Roman, Roman Sionis." </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Well, </span>
  <span class="s2">Roman</span>
  <span class="s1">, how about a pitcher or two?" You challenge, "Ever drunk with a student before?" </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He didn't reply instantly, but you didn't let him, storming confidently out of the bathrooms and to the bar. You honed in on Alex, and at first he looked excited to see you, but as you approached he saw the darkness in your eyes and instantly knew you were'nt to be messed with. He poured a double shot of Vodka and Coke as quick as he could; it didn't even reach the counter before its contents were emptied by yours truly and slammed back onto the mahogany. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Another." You growl, and Alex doesn't hesitate, the next drink landing in your hands within moments. You sink this one like the last, face maintaining the deadly glare it had held since you entered the room. Roman was soon at your side, marvelling at your drinking abilities; it was scary actually, how you managed to down your alcohol with such ease, expressionless. His grin faltered on your fourth shot and he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, breaking your anamatronic trance and stealing your attention to him; </span>
  <span class="s2">that's better</span>
  <span class="s1"> - Roman always got what he wanted, and he wanted you. He raised an eyebrow at your anger, wondering how he could capitalise on this and turn the situation in his favour. But for some reason, he hesitates; the thought of being cruel to you made his skin shiver in an unpleasent way - oddly. See, Mr Sionis was a criminal, a violent, feral monster who, if he did not get his own way, or was undermined or disrespected, made sure that those were the last things said person would inflict - for disrespecting the King of Gotham's underground was a penalty punishable by death. A slow, torturous death, courtesy of his own cynical ministrations. He was the Black Mask, and the Black Mask felt no mercy. Why should he sympathise when he could not receive such pleasures? Others can't have what he cannot, that simply is not fair, its preposterous. And like the narcissistic bastard he was, he reasoned with this part of himself, convincing the little golden figure sat perched on his right shoulder that he was doing the nice thing by not kidnapping you right now and keeping you for himself. Something about you was different, he could sense it - he recognised the brutal blaze swirling in the depths of your eyes. They reflected his own - </span>
  <span class="s2">murderous</span>
  <span class="s1">. And that's when the little red devil on his left shoulder made their attendance known, reinforcing Romans suspicions. This girl had the devil in her, the same devil within him. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"What?" You asked, incredulously. Roman had been staring at you for longer than was comfortable, and you knew he was deep in thought over something. His eyes flicked like an old VHS tape, his physical thoughts and their direction reflecting in the depths of his scrutiny over you. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Roman grinned at his plan. He had to have you, but he knew now that forcing himself was not an option - he had to wait for you to come to him. And what better way than to get someones attention by no longer wanting it? It was the ultimate power play he thought, his excitement at the idea of you being his under your own intention ignited a blistering fire of self admiration within him - Roman Sionis was a fucking genius he thought, no, he knew. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Nothing Darling, </span>
  <span class="s2">ciao</span>
  <span class="s1">." He replied smugly, his lips stressing a shit-eating grin at his own devious plan. He waltzed away from you to find Zsazs, desperate to let him in on his incredible plan. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You scoff at your dismissal. </span>
  <span class="s2">The fuck was all that about?</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Rolling your eyes, your turn to Alex. You take a second to allow the room to catch up with you, "Did you see that?" You ask Alex, moving your head slightly to the side in a nod towards the now retreated Roman. Alex scoffs, placing a pint of water on the bar in front of you. You cut him a look of displeasure but knew you should probably slow down if you wanted to get back safe tonight. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"That guy, my dear, is Mr Sionis." Alex said, lifting his brows as at your confused look. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Mr Sionis...right, and he is...?" You say, waving your hands in a confused manner. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex looked stunted, but continued to serve a few orders before continuing his conversation with you, "Well, Mr Sionis is the owner of this club." </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Your eyes widen at the realisation, "The owner?" You mutter.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Mhm." Alex hummed, amused. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But the conversation took a new direction, a direction Alex was not expecting. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Tell me about this Mr Sionis, Alex." You murmur, gliding into your soft, convincing voice you used to get information about men. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Well, he's the owner of this club, and my boss. He pays well." Alex starts, trying his best to close of the conversation. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Hmm, yes; but what about him? What type of person is he?" </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"I don't think--,"</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"</span>
  <span class="s3">Alex</span>
  <span class="s1">," you growl, darkly. Your face dropped the sweet smile it had held before and Alex visibly winced. He knew he couldn't say too much, and he didn't know much either, but he also didn't know you, and if living in Gotham had any perks; he knew those eyes - they were the eyes of someone you did not fuck with if you wanted to keep breathing. So, Alex moved across the bar, leaning in on his elbows so he could whisper to you over the loud music; where only the two of you could be heard. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"He, he has a particular personality - colourful, bold,-" Alex starts, his eyes shifting past your figure a few times to make sure he wasnt being watched, "-Possessive. He gets what he wants - always. And he will do anything to do so, there's no limits with the guy. You fuck up, you're done." </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Done?" You whisper back, leaning in closer to Alex, only a hairs breath away. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex stalls, trying to find a way to answer your question without sinking himself to that fate. But he doesn't get the chance to, as you're pulling away and turning towards an unknown figure behind you. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The next few moments were a blur. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The next thing Alex knew, there was a face being buried into the hard mahogany of the bar, and the loud crack of the mans nose being broken shook Alex from his trance. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You moved so effortlessly, your movements only so perfect through hours of repetition. You didn't even stumble, and with the effectiveness of your ruminations, practically no attention was drawn to the now escalating scene at the bar. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"On what fucking planet is it ok to grab anyone like the way you just groped me, huh?" You whispered into your assailants ear. They whined and coughed, shifting under the mounting pressure you were placing at their shoulder. You had grabbed them by the arm the moment you felt their hand sliding across your ass, and the quick pinch had you seeing red - moving through muscle memory and destabilising the man by using his own weight against him. He was now bent over the bar, head buried in broken glass, his shoulder ready to pop at any moment. He was at your mercy and your blood turned primitive. You'd had enough of creepy perverts tonight. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"The fuck is wrong with you lady? It wasn't anythin' bad," The man groans, blood pouring from his nose and staining the white shirt he was wearing. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You pressed harder, muffling the pop of his shoulder joint and his cry of pain with a loud laugh, "Say, Frank - how bout you walk out this club now under your own premise before I have you wheeled out in a bodybag?" You sigh. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"The fuck, how'd you know my name was Frank?" he growled, grunting at the pain. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Not only are you incredibly rude, but you're also rather obnoxious too, you </span>
  <span class="s2">fucking loser.</span>
  <span class="s1">" You sneer, shifting his dislocated shoulder further round. He screamed, but only briefly, as you soon shut him up with a face full of glass. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Fuck off, Frank, and don't come back." </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You release him and he instantly turns and scampers away like the injured hyena he was. Rolling your eyes you turn back to Alex, who's eyes are wide with shock. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Alex..." You mumble, and he gulps, his eyes searching yours out of panic over what you'll do next, "Just fix me a drink and I’ll be off. Sorry for the mess." You say calmly as if nothing happened. And that's the way it seemed, as no one even batted an eyelid to the violent display from moments ago. Alex says nothing but does as he's told, making you up an extra strong rum and coke. You down the drink and place the glass down. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Where's the emergency exit?" You ask Alex, and he points to the door behind the bar. You smile, sliding him a small tip - hush money - and exit the building. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You made it about five minutes down the road before things began to get weird - real weird. This wasnt the same type of blurry you got from alcohol, this was colourful, dazy. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Fuck - that fucker drugged me!" You sneer, words merging together as you propped yourself up against a brick wall. You tried to run over the events in your head, wondering where you tripped up. And then it hit you, the pint glass - when you leaned in to talk to Alex, he’d slipped something in the drink. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Fu-cckk" You mumble, eyes incredibly droopy now. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You needed to get back to your flat, safety - yes.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But you didn't, as when you tried to move your legs they gave out from under you. This was an incredibly dangerous situation for anyone to be in, especially a young woman on the streets of Gotham. But the drugs worked quickly against your system, and before you had any time to prepare yourself for your inevitable demise, you blacked out</span>
</p>
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